


Heaven is for Real

by justwriting (orphan_account)



Series: Age of Apocalypse Drabbles [1]
Category: Age of Apocalypse (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Bisexual Character, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Other, Pansexual Character, Racism, Slavery, Slurs, War-related themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/justwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles set in Warren's nightclub, Heaven, in Age of Apocalypse.</p><p>Swearing, no smut, though strong sexual themes in some chapters (each is warned). Suggestions for events and characters are more than welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gorgeous

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember the context of these drabbles: Age of Apocalypse was a harsh wartime setting with plots that focused strongly on discriminatory themes. These drabbles *WILL* contain racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia and any handful of other discriminating behaviors. It *WILL* contain heavy violence, because the characters are individuals who live in a society where anything and everything detrimental is acceptable and encouraged, as long as it's done by a mutant to a human. They are also canonically portrayed as brutal and harsh.
> 
> I, as the author, do not condone any of these behaviors, nor am I expressing hatred against any race, religion, sex/gender/orientation, or disability via these drabbles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter set in the later years of Apoc's reign.  
> Chapter warnings: swearing, sexual theme, racist behavior, gender discrimination, homophobia. I'm not an awful person. AoA was an awful time full of awful people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pronouns I use for Raze will match whatever gender he shifts into. When genderless, I will use masculine pronouns if I can't avoid using them altogether. I'll fill in his headcanonical AoA origin later on.

Raze went over his guideline in his head. He couldn't really call it a routine, because it was very much a guideline. What moves, in what sequences, which shifts, remember the beat of the song and how many verses it has. Blah blah blah. Fun stuff. Seriously, though, it was fun to think about.

"You're up honey," Helen told him, touching his shoulder with moist hands and smiling encouragement as she walked by, leaving damp footprints on the floors as she went. Helen was a nice lady. She was another dancer. She did it to support her kids - three. Her whole existing family was mutant. Her late husband hadn't been. Raze felt sorry for Helen. She was so attached to a human. Poor thing. She did her job awesomely, though, and her kids were warm and fed. She was a nice lady. He liked her.

And he was up! Raze put on his floor smile and garb - tight white shirt with flared-ending sleeves, dressy jeans - and stepped outside the ready room into the main section of Warren's nightclub. On his way to the center platform, he carried a tray of drinks for Michael while the young mutant went to take a leak, passed the tray off to a heavily tattooed and pierced human waiter. Raze smiled at some of the regulars, ran smooth blue hands over a couple occasional visitors, made very short chitchat with other employees. Eventually he made it to the round piece, heaving himself up in one slick, lithe movement, while at the same time shifting into an erotic feminine form in plum tights and a matching long sleeve crop top. Someone tossed a credit onto the platform's surface already.

Awesome.

Raze loved being just that good.

Helen's dancing was skilled, but her focus was completely on her work. She was a kind gentlelady among the crowd. Raze, on the other hand, did his dancing not only for the money, but because he loved the dancing itself and being stared at. He adored flaunting the bodies he came up with. Offstage, he was no gentlelady. He loved touching people, loved listening to voices, loved learning new information and words, loved being pulled onto someone's lap and pet absently while they talked with someone else. 

Warren, now and then, still asked her if she didn't feel objectified. The question just annoyed Raze now. If she _did_ feel objectified, why, she wouldn't continue to flaunt, would she? What Warren couldn't seem to get and the shifter was sick of trying to explain, was that Raze _did_ feel objectified. And she enjoyed it. She was an expensive item that people paid to see wrap herself around a pole. She was also a mutant, with whom plenty of mutants carried conversations. She was also a person who went home after work and ate and read and cleaned up and went to sleep feeling satisfied, and woke up excited to return to her job. Warren couldn't seem to get past the snap-happy little boy who'd turned up on his doorstep, and the young genderless who used their exotic mutation to feed people's lust.

Fuck this, thinking about Warren was seriously going to cripple her mood. Raze smiled and turned her focus back to her work.

Pose, holding the pole. Ran her fingers through her choppy red hair. Bit of a hush, now. The audience was waiting.

_There ain't no reason you and me should be alone_  
 _Tonight, yeah baby, tonight, yeah baby  
And I got a reason why you're who should take me home tonight_

First shift lost the clothes, brought murmurs of approval from the crowd and reassured Raze that she was definitely the center of attention.

_I need a man who thinks it's right when it's so wrong_  
 _Tonight, yeah baby, tonight, yeah baby  
Right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight_

She'd caught several familiar faces by now that were high up. The kind Warren gave drinks on the house more often than not. Prelate Havok - he was a monthly customer; the Bedlam brothers - weekly; some important human people. Raze didn't cater to human customers unless they specifically looked for her, or Warren specifically pointed her to them. Neither did she bother learning their names, whether fellow employee or customer.

_I'm on the edge, of glory and I'm hanging on a moment of truth  
I'm on the edge, of glory and I'm hanging on this moment with you_

Shifting sequence - new form every line. First male form brought another murmur, though not as loud. But Raze could see several members of the audience who definitely drooled over the masculine forms more than the feminine, despite not making noise. Havok always glanced away. That just told the shifter that he wanted, but was really trying not to want.

Another verse, in a new form. Female organs, but near-flat chest, all the fleshy bits firm. Muscle. Pretty face, but not overly pretty- now he was looking. Heh. Alright.

_I'm on the edge of something final we call life, tonight  
Alright, Alright_

Time to shift. Cute and curvy, his back to Summers. 

_Put on your shades, cause I'll be dancin' in the flames_

Aaaaand yup he was still looking. Lose the tight shorts. . .

Okay, so the fifth time he's watched. Dude still doesn't look at anything with a penis. Gotcha.

Lot of other people did. Raze wanted to preen.

By the time she got to the last chorus, she'd used about a dozen skin colors, and played with as many forms from each gender. Thrown in a couple genderless for the few people who liked that. Always had the same color of hair. Last chorus was where Raze had practiced a really fast sequence, used all of the forms that she had during the rest of the song. It took a lot of concentration and effort. She hoped she'd gone through it enough times.

_I'm on the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge_

Towards the last couple changes, Raze felt her form slipping, and she was shaking by the time the sequence was over. But she was still hanging on and moving, still looked hotter than hell (Heh). On the edge, no shit.

_I'm on the edge with you!_

He ended in the form he'd taken before the dance, and the same jeans and shirt. The lights went down on his pose and he smirked as he slid off the podium. 

He did it. Actually did it. Sequence, last shift, and all. Holy crap.

He felt like jelly.

How many credits-? He looked at the podium, and a wide grin spread over his face.

Holy crap.

Heh. Haha. Okay. Awesome. Peeps liked that.

Raze couldn't stop smirking, even when he tipped a water ration back - free for Warren's employees - and then made his way to the bar.

"Heeeeyyy, it's the little master!" Jesse Bedlam smiled at him. Raze smirked in response and went over to the brothers as soon as he got this greeting, letting Jesse perch him on his leg and rest a big hand on his lower back. Both of the Bedlams were big, and comfortable to perch on. And, strange for EMF, they didn't talk about enjoying the violence of their jobs too much. They talked about other stuff, interpersonal stuff, that lead Raze to believe the two of them had a close brotherly relationship.

"Great job up there tonight, Raze," Terrence offered a shotglass of something green. He totally didn't expect it to be taken, but it was like Jesse pulling the shifter onto his lap - that's just how they treated him. Like an equal, more or less. 

Raze smirked and held up a hand. "Sorry, man, still can't drink on the job. You'll have to get me one on a night I'm not working." 

"You work every night," Terrence and Jesse laughed. Raze joined in. He liked these big guys. Not a lot of African Americans frequented the bar, especially those who worked in the Pens. There was so much opportunity for a drunk to decide they wanted to kill somebody...and so much reason for them to be targets. But the Bedlams always came, and they were friendly and made a good impression on most people.

"And unless you fellas are gonna give me some work, I've gotta get back to it," he smiled, sliding easily off Jesse's lap and into a busty female form. They both made appreciative noises.

"I think we can do that, huh, Jesse?" Terrence said, pointing at the other EMF. Jackpot. Raze looked in the pointed direction if she hadn't known already who was there.

"Oh?" nice, sweet hickory voice. Seriously, Raze was positive this was a fuckable voice.

"Yeah, actually. Hey, Alex! C'mere, Terrence and I got somebody to introduce you to."

Havok looked over and got up, and Raze immediately stood straight, a playful smirk on her lips. The guy looked really down and moved like he knew how to beat shit up when he was angry...but he was tall and muscle-bound and hot. Really hot. Handsome face, short blond hair, blue eyes that spelled all hell and determination, red tatt on the left side of his face. 

"Alex, this little master is Raze. Raze, Prelate Havok, or Alex Summers."

"Hey," she smiled and held out her hand. 

Alex shook it and coldly, though politely, said, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Aw, c'mon, Summers. Lighten up!" Terrence laughed. "You look like a horse just shat on you."

Havok looked at him and couldn't help a smile. "Shat isn't a word, Terry."

"It is if you cross shit and sat," the man responded. "We bring you away from work to wind down, man, not to bring work with you. Wind down."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex waved it off and took a mouthful of beer before looking Raze over. "So what makes you the 'little master?'" he asked.

Finally, some attention. Raze smirked. "I take it you didn't watch my pole routine?"

Havok looked at the pole and then back at the red-headed lady. "That was you?"

"Uh huh," she smiled, and shifted into a guy, leaning against the counter with his hands tucked into the pockets of tight black leather. A A matching jacket hung open, a loose sheer white shirt hanging casually. "The hair's usually a giveaway, but you seem pretty deep into thought, so I'll let it go." Couple inches shorter than Alex, royal blue skin, pointed chin, just enough curve. He'd long since pinned the Prelate on liking fleshy people. His voice was pitched much lower than it had been for his female form, and he spoke seriously for the solemn man's sake, though he didn't give up the casual language. He crossed one ankle over another, cocked a brow. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Sure," Alex shrugged. Attention was away again.

Raze pouted and approached, resting a hand on the guy's chest. Havok looked down at him, disinterested, but didn't step away.

"So what do you do? You're an EMF, obviously," the shifter looked at the embellishment on the shoulder of his uniform. "There's all sorts of rumors on you, I'd like to hear the truth from the guy who knows the best." 

"Would you?" Alex smiled cheekily. Raze nodded once and smiled back. Little lighter. "Head of Security in the Breeding Pens, second-highest-ranking Prelate." 

"Huh. Cool," Raze cocked a brow and grinned, head tilted just slightly to the side. How high would he have ranked? Would he have worked with Alex? "What d'you do in your free time?"

Alex snorted. Raze thought the snort was funny, especially from Head of Security Prelate Alex Summers. "Spare time? What's that?" the blond said with a wry chuckle. "Head of Security's a pretty demanding, constant job. If I'm not working, I'm sleeping. Or being dragged here."

"Aw, Heaven's not so bad-"

"Listen- Raze, right?" Raze nodded. "You don't have to pitch me on the greatness of this place, okay? I get the cultural significance and unity bullshit. It's one of the nicest interiors of any building in the world. Can't find a better time anywhere. Worthington's done the same pitch seven dozen times."

Raze gave Alex a blank, slightly irritated stare, and his hands on the other's chest were less relaxed and casual. He really didn't like how everything was coming back to Warren today. They were on increasingly rough ground with each other. ". . .I was just going to say the entertainment's great. But whatever, how come you don't spend time here?" 

Alex was frowning now, easily picking up on Raze's coldness. He was about to speak, but Terry cut in.

"'Cause even when Rigid ain't working, he's still working. Guy never stops. Boring as fuck."

"I prefer 'dedicated.' 'Rigid' is Scott."

"I call it 'obsessed'," Jesse commented, looking over a couple ladies on a lounge. Raze recognized them as human regulars. That would've been why Jesse didn't approach.

Raze listened with interest, and turned his attention back to Alex, hands relaxed again. He was glad he still hadn't been told to stop - he liked touching people. "Dedicated to what?" the shifter asked, head tilted a little.

"Moving up in the ranks," was Havok's reply, short and plain. Suddenly it made sense to Raze. Apoc didn't approve of breeding with humans or fucking the same sex. It messed with his grand plan for the future: make baby mutants and repopulate the planet with _homo-superior_. He paid any attention to a male, he'd get told on and it wouldn't help him move up. Raze made a mental note to keep in female form when in immediate contact with the guy.

For now, though, he held his male form. Didn't want to change and the reason to be so obvious. "Well, you're a Prelate, right? What's-" ohhhhh. Oh. Wow. "You're working up to Horseman?"

Havok just looked at him.

"Cool. That's awesome. You go, mister," Raze nodded, a funny smirk accompanying the reply he knew sounded lame.

"I appreciate the support, Raze," Alex laughed. "What do you do here? Dancing, of course, but what else?"

"Sorry to interrupt, fellas," a new voice interrupted. Raze shifted minutely to a feminine form - lost the chops, grew a chest, changed the crotch - and looked past a suddenly sullen Alex at a mop of brown hair. "Alex, you're supposed to be on duty, and you know it. How much have you had?"

Raze let go of Havok and moved to step away, but the man reached for her waist and pressed into her lower back. Surprise. But Raze would stay. She liked hanging off big guys anyways. Alex was gritting his teeth. 

"Couple of beer, four or seven shots," Havok answered sourly, reaching for a new shot that the bartender was pouring for Terry. Terrence got another. "What's the matter, Scott? Can't I get a break now and then?" Alex tipped the shot back and then turned to face the mop, pulling Raze along in a way that wasn't too uncomfortable. She got a look at the man.

This guy was gorgeous, too. Just as built, maybe more; and a bit tattered and smelling of smoke - he'd obviously been busy on the streets. Similar facial structure and height. He had a scar over one of his eyes, three slashes that looked like they were from some animal. He had a device over that eye. Raze guessed it helped him see.

"No! You _still_ can't just run off during a shift, Alex! That's not how it works!" Scott lectured. The guy was hot when he was yelling. Shit. "It's too late now, you can't work on that much alcohol either," the older Summers pinched the bridge of his nose between index and forefinger.

"Sure I could," Alex shrugged. Raze was pretty sure he was saying that to antagonize the other Prelate.

"No, you can't! Hell knows what you'll do to them under influence." The second sentence was muttered, but Raze caught it. Awesome hearing was awesome sometimes. This guy, Scott, cared about 'them' - Raze guessed prisoners - a lot more than a Prelate ought to, if he was worried about extra damage. "Jesse. How many have you had?"

"Just this Guinness," Jesse replied, tilting the half-empty jar at Scott.

"Good. You'll take Havok's position until he's had enough time to flush the alcohol he downed. Collect overtime. Alex-" he turned to his brother, and suddenly saw Raze. A moment of concern, until he redirected his attention. "You know the rules. You have to reimburse Jesse for replacing your lazy ass; he has the right to demand the shift's worth of credits. Got it?"

"Sure, whatever," Alex set his jaw.

Scott looked back at Raze. "You okay?"

"Yeh," she nodded and shrugged. "Like, this is a little awkward, but it's not like I'm stuck between two guys throwing fists at each other."

Scott seemed skeptical and concerned. "Do you want him to let go?"

Raze shrugged. Yes, she could've made ten credits in the last ten minutes. No, she liked being up against a big guy with his arm around her waist. "Do you want a private dance?"

Scott nodded. "Point taken. Interesting way to put it." 

"Thanks."

"If you're ever uneasy about anything he does, you're welcome to contact and inform me of his behavior. I'll take care of it," he offered, even more pointedly.

Raze figured if the guy who cares about prisoners was worried about his brother being mean to a free mutant, she probably could use the offer of help at some point. But Alex was tensing under her and he was the customer at the moment, so she was more concerned with relaxing him than being molested. "All due respect, Prelate, I'm completely comfortable in my own skin. And I happen to work in Heaven. Mr. Worthington takes proper precautions and safety measures here, so I'm sure I won't have to bother you for anything. Thank you for the offer, though," she smiled.

She not only felt Alex relax, but saw Scott lose his overly-concerned expression and trust that she could handle herself. Just that good. Heh.

"You're welcome, Miss. Now, if you'll excuse us. Jesse and I have jobs to get to." 

Alex glanced apologetically at Jesse as the black man left, and Jesse nodded at him.

"Jerk," Havok muttered the moment the two were out if earshot. Raze assumed he meant the jerk was Scott, and she raised a brow at him.

"Rude to you, pretty gentlemanly to me. He's the first-in-command you're trying to trump?"

Alex grit his teeth. Bad subject. Oops. "Not so much 'trump' as measure up to."

"Oh, I see," she nodded. "Why'd you lie about the drinks and let Jesse take the shift?"

He let go and sat down at the bar. Raze almost pouted at the loss of physical contact. "Jesse likes his job as much as any of us and I'll pay him back. I'm not going back to work just because Scott tells me to. I would've on my own. I don't need him babysitting me."

Raze nodded. "He steals your sunshine," she grinned. Apocalypse had banned a lot of music. Somehow, though, the shifter had heard that song at some point and the lyrics came to mind just now.

Alex didn't get the reference. He nodded, down, and motioned the bartender for another drink. "Pretty much. Hey, you're working the floor? Don't let me keep you from your job." 

Raze smiled happily and shifted into his usual male floor form. "Thanks."

"Great performance, by the way!" Alex called at him. Raze took a graceful and sensual bow, attracting attention from nearby humans and mutants alike.

"Glad you liked it, Prelate Havok," he smirked, biting his lip and winking before he straightened and went to chat with other patrons.

Alex was staring now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raze's routine song is 'Edge of Glory' by Lady Gaga, suggested by a friend.  
> Since this is not an erotic fic, the focus wasn't on his stripping/dancing.  
> The song he recalls is 'Steal my Sunshine,' by Len.


	2. Hire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at least a year before Chapter 1. Raze gets hired by Warren. No enlightenment as of yet on my origin story for AoA Raze, but it will come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I don't think there's a lot of any stromg anything in this chapter...but I will still warn carefully.
> 
> Warnings: mention of/comparison to concentration camps, racism, implied gender discrimination, wartime conditions

Warren stood with his arms folded over his chest, wings folded and tense behind him, and a dour grimace on his face. He looked, for all the world, like a sentry guarding the gates of Heaven. Maybe, he thought with empty humor, _he_ ought to guard the doors and pay _security_ to run the place, save him a few headaches. 

The businessman had stepped outside his nightclub, sick of treating Apocalypse's lackeys to the pleasures of food and drink and music - they got for free the very things they were paid for taking from other people. Warren was ill from the sheer amount of sucking up he had to do for the dictator's Chosen, but the step outside of that environment did very little good. Inside, he only had to deal with people. Outside, the atmosphere was polluted with the stenchs of the dead and dying, of the massive concentration camps simply named the Breeding Pens. It was a distance from Warren's nightclub, but that hardly mattered when all of Manhattan stewed in the same wind-less air. A sharp odor burnt his nostrils, and heavy mud-colored clouds formed overhead. The shorn sky was once again preparing to bleed acid rain.

A clatter a little ways down the street caught the mutant's attention. This was only evidenced by a slight rustling of his wings as they perked a half-inch. The the sound of feet against the broken and tumbled remains of what used to be a road soon followed the clatter. Warren's wings sank in depression. Another runaway, no doubt pursued by a team of Apocalypse's force. He turned his back to go inside, rather than watch another injustice without any ability to stop it, but the set of footsteps came quickly, and ran directly up the steps of the establishment.

Warren was fully prepared to ignore the runner, but this, with no sounds of pursuers, was certainly worthy of a moment's attention. He glanced at the newcomer just as the newcomer caught on to a bit of his sleeve. His eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline - since when had anyone been comfortable enough to so confidently reach for a stranger?

"'scuse me, sir," the young mutant said; and he was a young mutant, with bright red hair and royal blue skin like he had, "Can I maybe have a sec with ya? You're Mr Worthington, right?"

If anything about the boy caught Warren's interest, it had to be the easygoing, happy air he had about him. Really upbeat, in this dank abyss. And polite. He turned to fully face the boy, looking him over - barely seventeen, he'd guess. "Yes I am. What can I do you for?"

A grin broke out across the kid's face, genuinely pleased to have an audience. The way he lit up like a lightbulb coaxed a smile from the older mutant. "Well, I heard you were looking for people to work. I'm a person to work. If you'll have me, o'course."

Warren was already won by the young man's shiny and simple demeanor and he was tempted to say yes just like that. The rain started. Nothing was so simple. "We'll see about it, young man. What's your name?"

"Raze," the mutant replied.

"And your ability, Raze?"

The kid shrugged, changing into a black-haired human girl. "Shifting."

Warren frowned slightly. Shapeshifters could be problems. Ages could be lied about, they could pose easily as impostors..."And how old are you?"

"Bubba says I'm 'bout eighteen, sir," Raze said, lifting her head proudly, almost as if in defiance.

"Alright, Raze. I hope you don't mind my asking - are you a male or a female?"

The shifter looked at him hesitantly. "...both? Sir. Just not both at once. I guess I could make it work, but-"

"That's alright, kid. Just wanted to know if it could be clarified. How about family? You mentioned a 'Bubba'?"

She nodded, and shifted back into a mutant male form, a bit shorter than his original. "Bubba's taken care of me two years. Him and Carrie live in a basement. He takes in strays, jus' not very often. Can't make enough to keep more than two, y'know?"

Warren nodded. He knew. Most people couldn't.

"So anyway, I figured this'd be a better place t'go than the big A's army. Bring in some credits so he can keep me and Carrie. She's hungry, y'know. Could use some clothes, too. Not everybody can make their own," he said, shifting from a loose and tattered shirt and jeans to a nicer jacket and pants to demonstrate the point.

The older mutant's heart went out to the kid. Good person with good intentions in a dark world. "Well, Raze, I have good news and bad news to give you. The good news is that I want to hire you. I'll pay you a good wage, you'll be able to afford to feed and clothe both Bubba and Carrie. The bad news...I have to grill you on your loyalty to our Lord and Ruler." Warren grit out the title like a mouthful of the rain.

Raze shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You do that, Mr. Worthington. I know ya have to."

Warren nodded. "First, where do you come from?"

"Outskirts o'the city. Think my parents died. Actually lived with a stray cat for a while, learned some tricks from her. Rode along with Scavy's, once, not for long. Got beat on by a bunch o'scared humans. Come from all over."

Sounded safe enough. "Alright. Are you currently residing with humans?" Warren felt his heart sink at the pause. "...be honest, Raze. I won't rat on you or them, I give my word."

The redhead bit his lip, looking away and through the pouring rain. He looked back at Warren, a guarded look in his eyes. "Yeh. They figure I'm human, too. I ain't."

"I see." That posed a problem. He sighed. He really wanted to help this kid and the people he was staying with. "Okay. Here's who you are in the club: Mutant, living alone in an apartment. I will find you one and pay the reliability fee, you'll pay your own rent. You get food rations regularly from the distribution office. You work here nights, anything else is overtime. You've never had contact with humans except for the negative incidents you mentioned."

Raze nodded his understanding as Warren finished. "Gotcha. Thanks for the apartment."

"Very welcome. Are you registered?"

"Nope," he shook his head.

"We'll have to get you registered. Your level will determine your wage," the business owner clarified. "One more thing. Don't give any of your paycheck to your family, in case someone drops to check on your personal finances. You tell me how much they need, I'll give the credits to you separately from your wage so it's not in the books at all. _Do not_ , under any circumstances, use your own logged credits on them. And be careful about people following you to places. Is this extremely clear?"

"Yeh, clear as a mirror. But you'll be paying for them?" The younger man frowned, dissatisfied. "I don't want charity, Mr. Worthington. I wanna work."

Warren shook his head. "The credits that will go to them is part of your earnings. They just won't be recorded. Get it?"

"Ohh. Yeh, makes sense," Raze nodded. "When can I start? What position?"

"You can start now if you like. Do you sing or play an instrument?"

The kid's eyes widened in amazement. "No. You have music?"

Angel grinned, and decided this was as good a moment as any to open the door to his new employee and let him walk into the light and 80s music. "It wouldn't be Heaven without, now would it?" he said while Raze looked around at all the people, mutant and human, gathered here. "I'll train you as a cashier and waiter, we'll get you registered, and then we'll see what other little jobs you's like to try. How does that sound?"

The shifter's eyes fell on the female singer on stage. Human. He felt immediate distaste for her, despite the beautiful voice at her lips, and after a moment a very small, niggling amount of dislike for Warren.

He turned to the man, smirking and his bottom lip sliding out from under his top teeth. "Sounds great."


	3. Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex is Apocalypse's majordomo. He visits Heaven on a regular census-taking.  
> Warren does good things for people and then gets annoyed with them  
> And we get to have a little more alt!Raze.  
> Plus a new female edition: Alison Blaire.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: strong racism; mention of slave trade; brief, mildly sexual content (sub/Dom reference, brief non-graphic groping); mention of depression, suicide, mania

The music was the last sound to be silenced. One by one, both clients and employees had turned their attention to Apocalypse's steward. The rumble of conversations, the rare laughter, the movement, and then the music all died down. All eyes were on the man who had just entered.

Rex was easily recognized among these crowds as Apocalypse's secretary, errand-runner, page boy - to use the less-offensive popular terms. He was blind in his left eye, and scarred - not unlike the rest of the population - elsewhere. What gave him hopelessly away was the thick metal collar around his neck, set with round stones of the High Lord's colors. 'Dog' was one of the more offensive terms.

Humans looked nervously at him. Mutants turned obligated ears to him. Some members of both species glared at him like he was filth. The Dictator's run-about. The one who carried orders from his Grace to the people. Rex made unashamed, steady eye contact with each of those ignorant subjects, especially the mutants. They had no ground judging him for doing an excellent job with the accesses Apocalypse entrusted him with. They were all, in some way or another, working for or with their Lord. 

Who else was there to work for?

Heaven only became more silent, until one could hear a pin drop. No one dropped a pin. Finally, after looking steadily over the crowd and not finding the face he was searching for, Rex blinked and cleared his throat.

"Our Gracious Lord and Ruler Apocalypse has no new commands. The quarterly registration, however, continues to be mandatory. No one may leave the building until all have been checked for the necessary mark," the man stated. The crowd was unsettled. "As per usual, Infinites and Elite are posted outside to ensure that this command is obeyed. Physical disturbances and vocal treason will be dealt with according to the law. Would whomever carries highest rank direct me to the owner of this establishment?"

Humans didn't move. Mutants looked to one another, and some passing of word was done until a scout leader stepped forward to address Apocalypse's representative. "Angel is in the back, training new hires. This one-" he pushed a human waiter forward by the neck, "-should be able to take you there."

Rex nodded to the leader. "Thank you for your loyalty. Speak with me after registration is done; until then, assist the Elite by directing these people in orderly fashion to the census-taker at the door. Subjects of Lord Apocalypse," he now addressed them all, "You may continue your previous activities when registration is complete. Your cooperation is greatly approved, and your time will be repaid in additional ration."

The people dispersed only to gather in a loose line to the doorway. Rex glanced at the human that had been shoved forward, disliking the attention that had evidently been placed on it, what with all the tattoos and piercings it wore.

"Bring me to your keeper," Rex stated, and the man nodded, turned, and led. His wording was purposeful, of course. Humans, technically, could not be employed - not in the same sense that mutants could. Their mutant keepers were permitted to demand of them unlimited hours of labor, at unrestricted tasks. The mutant keepers were permitted to pay the human as they saw fit, or not at all. No one, of course, would work under those conditions for long...so to prevent the scatter of humans, they were all contracted to their 'employers' for the minimum span of four months - long enough to be registered or missing at the quarterly census.

Slave trade and tracking system all in one. It was Rex's baby - or one of them, at least. He took great pride in his excellent stewardship of his Lord's property.

The human stopped at the entrance to a room and stepped aside, eyes down. Rex looked it over curiously. "Where are your markings from?"

It looked up at him, tense and with suppressed bitterness. "Before Apocalypse took North America."

"Mmh. Hold out your wrist."

The human grit his teeth, but obeyed. Rex took out a handheld scanner and checked. A blue light glowed through the human's forearm. Red was a flatscan - human, blue a kept human, green a mutant, purple a Prelate or Horseman. Rex himself flatscanned to protect from Sentinels. He tucked away the scanning device and reached for the human's chin, turning its head first one way and then the other, counting ten piercings. He lifted its shirt - a navel also - and then gripped its crotch, feeling around for any more. By the time he was done, the human was half-hard, red-faced, and trying not to groan.

"How much did all that work cost you?" he asked, finally taking his hand away.  
The human wouldn't make eye contact. "Didn't cost me anything. My Dom never told me how much she spent."

Rex's expression was pure surprise, then relaxed. He laughed and clapped the human on the shoulder, before entering the room without it. He couldn't have said anything more, not really. He had his own Dom, and had his Master been female, Rex still would've knelt. So he could either mock hypocritically or, contrary to the law, applaud the human. Besides the illegal side of things, Rex just wasn't about to express kinsmanship with a _homo sapiens_

The room was small, and only contained three people: the nightclub owner, a blonde woman, and a red-headed and sharp-jawed man. The two looked past Angel at Rex as he talked about how to receive discrimination and lewd remarks from customers. Warren broke off and turned to see who was behind him.

"Rex. How are you?" Warren greeted the newcomer, as politely as usual, though tense and somewhat indignant. Rex didn't usually smile - it was hard when his Lord rarely did - but the sharp, over attentive glint in his eye faded a bit.

"As well as can be expected, Angel. My errand today is the monthy census," he explained, observing Warren's set facial expression relax slightly. The businessmen were alike in that they never got a chance to wind down. "Your patrons and employees on the floor are currently going through the registration check and issue process. Is there anyone else in the building?"

Warren sighed. "Rex, you know about my privacy contracts."

"And you know, Mr. Worthington, that when Apocalypse issues nation-wide, ongoing commands, even Heaven is not exempt from following them," Rex responded. The same jabber, every month. He guessed that Warren always brought it up for the sake of self protection, so he couldn't be accused of breaking the mutant/human peace and giving away client/employee information indiscriminately.

The manager sighed. "Unfortunately. Excuse me, Dazzler, Raze. The two of you will have to wait here. Be nice," he stated, turning and looking at both of them, one after the other. The redhead broke out in a mischievous grin, and the blonde rolled her eyes, pulling out a cigarette package. Warren gave her a disapproving glance and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Raze, but then shook his head and turned back to Rex, opening the door for the steward to exit first.

Fortunately the human had wandered off, which left the pair alone to talk. "Both of them, I assume?" Rex asked, pointing to the closed door. "Describe them, please."

"Yes, both need to be registered," Warren nodded. "Dazzler is the woman - legal name Alison Blaire. She used to be an extraordinary pop singer, but only released one album before...social changes...killed her career. She went into a sort of depression without music."

If there was one action that Rex disapproved of from Apocalypse, it was the outlawing of music. Certainly, he understood the reason: take away the people's spirit, take away their will to fight. But...it didn't only discourage the opposition. The steward wished it was only censoring, not complete removal. He forgot about that, however. His duty was to his Master, and he would support every decision unless asked for input. "How unfortunate for her. I presume she sought you out for a job, as Heaven is the only location music is permitted? Does she wish to continue her career?"

"Actually, I found her," the blond explained. "I heard her voice on old CDs and decided it would be a waste not to try. She gave in and decided to try for a few months. If she does plan to continue making music, it'll have to be by working here."

Rex nodded. Typical Angel, saving lives. "You mentioned that she is depressive. Does that extend to suicidal, maniacal? Where does her allegiance lie?"

"I don't think she has an allegiance," Warren admitted. "She doesn't complain about Apocalypse, nor does she express approval or admiration. Not suicidal or maniacal, although I don't think she cares all that much about anything beyond her next cigarette-"

"Her powers?" the steward interrupted. Obviously Warren wasn't clear on the woman's mental stability, so Dazzler could tell Rex himself what she cared about.

"Manipulation of light. Hallucinations based on that, momentary blindness, etc."

"And the other one?"

"Raze. He's a remarkable young mutant. He came off the streets and asked me for the job. He spoke in street dialect when he first came, and has built a wider vocabulary and altered to the common speech of surviving establishments. His learning skills are extraordinary - the kid must read a dozen books a day, whatever he can lay hands on," Warren went on, speaking with warmth and enthusiasm, "His personality and attitude are through the roof. He really brightens up the place. It's been excellent for business."

Rex's attention spiked at that last sentence. When Warren was aware that a new employee had all the potential to join Apocalypse's ranks, he pushed from the start to get said employee to stay. "You seem quite impressed with him. What is his mutation?"

"...also remarkable," the other admitted. "Though his control is underdeveloped."

"Go on, Warren."

"Raze is a shapeshifter."

Rex blinked. "What level?"

"Alpha."

The steward blinked again and then let out a long breath. There hadn't been an unregistered Alpha shifter since Mystique. And Morph. "You do understand what that means, don't you?"  
Warren nodded. It meant that he was suited for training to rank high in Apocalypse's forces. "Let me bargain for the kid."

Rex shook his head. "For all we know, he's eighty years old. Shapeshifters have full rights over themselves, you know that." Not only was that particular mutation incredibly useful, but it was one of the many abilities of Apocalypse himself. "Shit, Angel. Why do you always have to fight for the hard ones?"

The winged mutant smiled grimly. "I fight for all of them, Rex. You know that."

"Bring both of them to the front for registration," Rex answered just as grimly. "Make sure the shifter is ready for summoning."

"One of these days you're going to have to _ask_ , you know, and I'm going to be able to tell you to fuck off."

"That's not the way this age is going, Angel. And if you say that any more articulately, I can dub it treason. Be careful."

Rex returned to the lobby. Warren turned back to the door, inwardly groaning. They'd had enough time alone together to destroy the world. He opened the door.

Cigarette smoke wafted out, almost making the manager gag. Dazzler was lighting up yet another and sitting in a very victorious manner, while Raze slouched in his chair and pouted. He cracked a smirk at Angel.

"She's fun. I like her," the kid stated. "She's a really hard player."

Warren arched a brow. "I told you two to be nice."

"Chill. We were nice," Dazzler stated blandly.

"Yeh, we had a bitching contest. _Nicely._ And she won."

Blaire grinned. "Yeah I did."

"Only by a hair, though. A thick one. But a hair."

"Fuck you. I won by a mile."

"Hair."

"Mile."

"That's enough, children," Warren interrupted. "You two get to the front doors. Quietly. Without any slapping, please."

Raze snickered and got up first, turning to Alison and bowing, hand held out. "If you will do your humble servant the great honor of allowing him to escort you to the foyer?"

"Oh, yes, _so_ humble. Humble as a _peacock_ ," Alison snorted, snuffing out the cigarette butt in an ashtray. "I can walk to the front of the building by myself, thanks."

Raze dropped to a knee with the most ridiculously pitiful pleading tone and look, hand outstretched in supplication. "So you can, m'lady. Forgive my presumption, I beg-"

She was trying to maintain a serious face, but it cracked open. "Oh my god, Raze, knock it off," she laughed, unable to look away.

He pouted, which brought on a more serious fit of giggles. "But m'lady-"

"Sh-hhhhh," Alison tried to say, staggering to her feet through the laughter, and Raze sprung up in elation beside her, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I win this round," he stuck his tongue out.

"Not fair," Dazzler stated, quite seriously, and then had another small fit. "So not fair. Laughter's cheating."

"But it's the best kind of cheating!" Raze whined. "What, you wanna try again? Best two outta three sorta deal?"

"No," she shook her head, hand on her stomach. "Uh-uh. My stomach can't take another workout like that."

"If you laughed more often it could," the shifter grinned. "The more exercise it gets, the stronger it'll-"

Dazzler gasped and raised a hand to her mouth in faux horror. "Did you just say... _the word_?" 

Raze stepped back, as if smacked, and took on an equally terrified pose. "No! No, I couldn't have! But I did! Oh, whatever shall I do? This is no good, simply no good-"

"How fretful! They'll find you! They'll find you and destroy you for using _the word_ -"

"They'll destroy you both in a minute if you don't get your _hilarious_ selves to the front for registration," Warren interrupted the dramatic display, receiving _looks_ from both of them.

"You threw off our groove," Raze pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Party pooper," Alison added. She stuck her nose in the air indignantly and marched out. "Come along, Raze. We have to get to the front before the harbinger of doom speaks again."

Raze followed along with the airs of a puppy. "Ooo, the front. I love the front. It's so _exciting_ at the front. There's like...absolutely nothing to do."

The pair chattered off on their way to the front. 

Warren sighed. What a handful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun. I love jabber between happy/semi-happy characters.  
> As an aside, I'd like to write in more female characters, but there don't seem to be many with good development that I could choose from. If you want to read a specific one, please do comment and let me know who; I'll work her in.


	4. Seizure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seizure: (n, def. 3) taking possession of an item, property, or person legally or by force.  
> (n, def. 4) a sudden attack of disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this a tribute to the strong woman. She is loving and kind towards people. She manages as well as she can in the circumstances she's placed in. She is honest about her emotions but does not indulge them if the situation demands that she remain in control. She takes no shame in her tears when it is finally time to shed them. She allows others to help her when she needs it the most, and has undoubtedly helped them when they needed it the most. She shoulders her burden and continues to fight through life.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: mild swearing, kidnap/legalized seizure of children, terrorism.

"Evening, Alison," Helen's gentle voice helpfully interrupted Dazzler's thoughts - god, she was itching for a cigarette. She moved a bit to smile at Helen through the makeup mirror reflection, but her smile faded a little in concern when she saw the other woman's expression.

"Evening," she greeted, setting down her pencil liner and turning to the older lady. Helen had left her carry bag on the floor and was taking off her coat, so Alison picked up the bag and set it on the vanity. Usually they chatted, but she could feel the other's sadness. "You okay?"

Helen smiled like it was the only thing stopping her from crying. She didn't answer right away. She breathed in sharply, held it, and exhaled slowly. Then she smiled again and shook her head. "No, Alison. I'm not."

She sighed, wanting to cry with the woman, and reached forward to hug her, but Helen held up her hand.

"Not now," she said, her eyes tearing. "I have to get through the performance first."

Alison got it. Helen was here to work, she had to have her mind on the job. Whatever was wrong had to wait until the job was done. She got it. So she mustered a grin. "Okkidokie. Well, you've got fifteen minutes to jiggle your way onto the stage, so let's get you done up. Unpack your bag, I'm gonna get the hair stuff ready," she said brightly, shepherding the woman over to the mirror.

"Oh, thank you. I'd never get finished on time," Helen said, voice quivering a little even as she worked to sound positive. She unpacked her bellydancing outfit, towel and makeup, and started stripping to get dressed.

"No problem! That's what girlfriends are for." Blaire sniffed, digging around for the curling iron. That little tremble just wouldn't do. "There's the little fucker. Plug it in and get changed, I'll find the hairspray. Oh my god, the weirdest thing happened today..."

Helen stood on the towel that she brought, water soaking into it from her feet, and listened to Alison's chatter as the young woman did the clasp at the back of her chest piece for her. Her smile became more earnest as she relaxed. On the younger woman talked, about one incident and one person, then about another person, then about the paint Warren wanted to put on the walls. Helen did her own makeup - water-durable foundation, eyeshadow, blush - as Alison fixed her hair, then listened in complete silence as the other woman talked on and fixed fake eyelashes onto Helen's lids.

"M'kay. Close your eyes and mouth. Don't want this getting in 'em," she warned before coating Helen's hair in hairspray. "There we go, you're all prim and proper," she set down the can emphatically and gave Helen a look-over.

"I feel prim and proper," the woman smiled, turning around and then looking at Alison. "All finished?"

"Totally finished. Go shimmy 'em outta their minds."

Helen squeezed her hand warmly and swallowed back rising tears. "Thank you, dear." 

Dazzler anxiously watched the woman leave, hoping that Helen would manage through her performance. She wondered what had happened. Helen had been through a lot of shit, she'd found out both from the woman herself and from Raze. Two miscarriages before her three children, her husband's death in the cullings. She was almost forty, now, and able to support her toddlers only because of the wage Warren paid. Most days, even her hardest, Helen kept her battles to herself and treated both co-workers and patrons kindly. Nothing ever broke her patient resolve. So whatever had happened to shake the woman, it had to be bad.

"Holy shit!" She jumped when cold fingers tazed her sides, and turned with narrowed eyes to the shapeshifter who'd sneakily snuck up on her. She lunged for his waist, hands in tickle position, and managed to get a good five seconds of retaliation in until he shifted away as a bright blue glob between her legs and made her trip.

"Victory once again for the mighty Raze!" he snickered, shifted into a genderless form, and held out a hand to help her up.

She smacked the hand away and stood up by herself. "I'll get you back for that."

"I know you will," Raze smirked, then frowned and was serious. "Hey, what's wrong with Helen? She didn't look herself when she came in."

Alison was serious also. She went back to her watching place. The woman was still doing fine. "She didn't say. She didn't wanna break down before her dance. It's bad, though. It's really bad."

Raze bit her lip, shifted into a female and leaned against a support column. "Yeah. Not much gets to her. What d'you think it is?"

Alison shrugged. "I don't know. I hope she didn't get hurt. She's not moving like she's hurt."

"Nah, she's moving like she's butter," the shifter said, her eyes glued to the bellydancer. "Damn. I need to take lessons."

Dazzler snorted. "What, poledancing's not enough?"

"Poledancing's great. So's this. Like, this is even awesomer. You can be big and bellydance. Size just gets in the way on the pole. And I wanna learn as much as I can, y'know?" she shrugged. "Maybe the landlord's kicking her family out. Warren'll find 'em a new place."

"Maybe," Alison agreed with a nod. But she wasn't so sure. Helen wouldn't cry over that. She would come to work calmly, look for their manager right away, and explain in a businesslike manner, but not cry.

The routine was good, Raze and Dazzler agreed. Nothing out of place. The audience probably didn't even notice any emotional wreckage. And that, when they were there to earn credits, was the vital part.

When Helen was off the stage, though? She was more than allowed to fall apart.

Raze couldn't be there - her routine always came after the bellydancer's, and then she did private rounds - but she gave Helen a hug before she moved onto her own platform.

Alison helped Helen out of her makeup before the heavy waterworks began. And once the older woman let herself cry, it didn't stop. Alison didn't tell her to stop, either, but let the other mutant rest her head against her chest and cry. Helen's skin expelled moisture, so soon Dazzler's shirt was drenched, but she just kept holding and soothing until Helen's sobs dissipated enough that she could speak.

"They took my eldest," she finally managed to explain, and immediately burst into tears again. Alison felt a huge weight sink to the bottom of her stomach. _No. No, please no, she's such a kind lady._ "They took Mark and said that they'd be back when Sara was old enough. They just...forced their way in and carried him out. I didn't get to say goodbye to my baby. He was afraid and didn't understand- there was no time to explain..."

Helen was still in tears by the time Kyle rapped on the door to the ladies' changeroom and asked if they were alright. Dazzler was so glad that he cared. "Kyle, we need Warren in here if you can find him. Right away."

"He's in his office. I'll bring him immediately," the human answered quickly.

Kyle was true to his word, so it was only a few minutes before Warren knocked and with Alison's permission entered the changeroom. Dazzler caught a look at the pierced and tattooed human, mouthing a silent thank-you.

"Helen? What's wrong?" Warren asked, his voice gentle with concern and firm with protectiveness. Helen stood slowly and collapsed against him from the emotional weakness alone. She couldn't explain, so Alison did for her.

Dazzler and Angel took a long time to soothe the unfortunate woman. Warren promised to try to get Mark back for her and get her other children protection. He personally escorted her home and told her to take as much time as she needed: he would pay her wage as though she was working.

Alison lit a cigarette the moment Warren was out of the building. Raze fumed quietly when he heard, and Kyle was very solemn for the next few days. When Helen returned a week later, Dazzler wrote a song about the vile seizure of good people's children. It never would've been allowed on the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The definition of seizure is from dictionary.com ; definition 4 applies figuratively.
> 
> Also, the change in Helen's occupation, from pole dancer to belly dancer, was entirely intentional. I may get around to editing that in chapter one.


	5. Dazzled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dazzler, instead of being recruited by one of Magneto's teams, is sought out and hired by Warren - set between Chap 1 and 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mention of blood and vomit, mildly horrific setting, heavy swearing, mention of racism, mention of misogynist behavior.

Everyone had sunk low since En Sabah Nur's coming, Warren knew. He had to reconsider that understanding as he walked up a battered, grafitti'd staircase. The dim lighting the air, dank and heavily drenched in mutated-mildew and cigarette smoke, made the place stifling. The close space, the occasional hollers or animal-like calls, and the creak of rotting wooden floorboards brought on a sense of danger. Blood and vomit joined the grafitti on the walls, pulling stains down to the floor.

Everyone had sunk low, but few this far.

Warren passed the fourth floor with a careful eye on a resident who poked a gnarled, feathered head out of the door. It watched the Alpha mutant through one keen, black, oversized eye - the other was milky and running with pus. He continued up the stairs without attack, though the resident spat at him, and alighted on the fifth floor with no small relief. As Warren passed the doors in the hall, he peered at the faded numbers on each, and turned to check that no one was behind him as he ventured further down the hall.

The nightclub owner was not a shy man. He cut an imposing figure even with his wings tucked instead of spread, and he carried himself with a confidence that few below the rank of Alpha possessed. Thus, he did not look over his shoulder when he turned, but instead faced fully whatever might be behind him.

This did not hinder his ability to be, at other times, welcoming- or even informal.

Neither attitude, however, seemed particularly helpful when the woman in room 447 finally came to the door.

Ms Blaire leaned carelessly against the doorframe, holding a cigarette to her mouth while smoke, like a dense fog, poured out of the humid room. Warren, neither confidently, nor politely, had to cough.

She raised a disinterested eyebrow at him. "The hell do you want?"

When he finally had enough toxic fume in his lungs that inhaling more wouldn't make a difference and he could finally stop hacking, Warren cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Dazzler?"

The woman straightened with a bit of a frown. "That was my performance name. As you can see," she gestured around, presumably encompassing the entire world, "There's a total lack of demand for performances. So, my name's Alison. Who the fuck are you?"

Well, that tended to take one down a notch, Warren thought. Then again, how many people actually watched broadcasts anymore? Radios were more compact. "Angel. Warren Worthington the third. Please excuse the intrusion, Ms. Blaire-"

"Alison. Learn it or leave."

"Alison." The businessman continued on. "I run a prestigious nightclub here in New York, called Heaven. And I'm always looking for more staff. I- May I come in?"

She looked him over skeptically, then took a draw on the cigarette and breathed the smoke out through her nose, slumping away from the door and into the apartment. "Oh, why the hell not. You're more decent than most of the guys around here. Although I'm sure you have super special privileges of invasion, too, if you're allowed to own a fucking business."

"Well," Warren said with a distasteful grimace as he came in and closed the door. "You're not wrong. I do tend not to use those permissions: I don't condone the disturbance of the privacy of individuals."

"And I don't have to wipe when I piss," she said, rolling her eyes and plunking down on a ratty old couch. "It totally makes sense that you'd uphold that shit but personally look for a _mutant_ to join hire. That _is_ why you're here, right?" Alison asked. "You need another server girl."

"Yes and no," Warren said, leaning on the edge of a table. "Yes, I want to hire you-"

"-Well, then, let me tell you right now that you're wasting your time," she interrupted blandly. She ground the smouldering end of her cigarette butt into a very full ashtray and pulled out another one. "I'm not looking for a job. I'm sure as hell not gonna to work for some 'prestigious' racist dick at serving more 'prestigious' racist dicks. I'm super fine right here."

Warren nodded. "I was told that you were secluded and quiet. Depressed. And that you'd lost your voice."

She paused in the middle of a puff to bite a sarcastic, "Sorry to disappoint," but the man was sure he had her attention now.

"Did you know that your album is on the list of media that I am permitted to play in my establishment?"

A roll of her eyes, but at least she wasn't flat-out turning him down. "Notta clue. Don't give a shit either."

"That means _you_ , Alison, would be permitted to sing other songs, if you were to accept an available musician's position. Provided they match the censorship requirements, of course."

"Of course," she snorted. A pause. "I'm not signing a keeper contract. I want a full wage. Above minimum. Or I quit. And I want a stage. I won't tolerate being handled by half-drunk customers. Singing is a serious job," she told Warren firmly. "I will expect, _at least_ , my employer to consider my work seriously."

"Completely. I will fulfill all your terms."

Alison nodded. "Okay."

"...if you fulfill one of mine."

She narrowed her eyes. Warren held up his hands quickly.

"Hold on, hold on- Just one. Let me move you into a decent apartment. This place is the asshole of ghettos."

She stared at him for a second and then laughed a little. The noise surprised Warren, but was certainly welcome to his ears. "Geez, I totally didn't expect to hear those words from you. I agree to that term."

Warren smiled. "I'm not prudish, Ms. Blaire. I'm just professional."

"It's Alison, Warren. Still," the woman said, but not irritably now. Then she smiled. "Or, I guess, Dazzler."

He walked over until just in reach - best to give plenty of room than not enough - and held out a hand. "Alison, 'Dazzler'...thank you for your business."

"Thanks for yours, Mr. Warren 'Angel' Worthington the third of Heaven," she deadpanned, shaking his hand. And then laughed again. 

Warren smiled.

A few of us haven't sunk too low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This only took a few hours to write, so...I apologize for any mistakes or poor quality in character portrayal and actual writing.
> 
> On a different, more positive note!  
> Thank you for the kudos, Mado and gealach! I'm glad you enjoyed!


End file.
